Never go to bed Angry Stay up and fight
by Puck -X
Summary: Never wondered why Hermione never was with her family? Why Severus Snape talked about his? Strange fic about love (much loooove), angst and strange secrets. WIP HGSS
1. Prologue: Parents Replaced by Waxdolls

**Disclamer:** **Nothing is mine. Everything belongs to You-Know-Who (NO! Not Voldemort, J.K. Rowling).**

This is a fic (non-betaed) I wrote ages ago. I found it and changed a couple of things. It has strangely enough each and every little element that makes a typical, almost cliché-like Hermione/Severus story. Only this one is completely different and has actually a weird plot, just like Angelic Layer (my other fic).

(The full summary)

Have you never wondered why Hermione was so little with her parents. Never wondered why Snape is so dark? Well, here some things are explained, some aren't and emotions show their powers.

**BUT ANGELIC LAYER AND 'Never go to bed angry. Stay up and fight." HAVE NOTHING IN COMMON. It's not the same story at all.** This one is supposed to be funny. Let's hope my sense of humour is not crappy.

The prologue and first chapter might be confusing, but it's all on purpose. Read and review please!

**

* * *

**

**Never go to bed angry. Stay up and Fight!**

* * *

Prologue: Human Waxdolls Remplaces Parents.

Something had happened. The Order just knew it. It was bound to happen.

Although Dumbledore had put several very complicated and powerful spells on the Granger's house, Death Eaters had found it. They attacked the Granger's residence in the middle of one July night.

Hermione had been outside, in a muggle concert with a friend of hers, having fun and made up for the time she hadn't been there.

Hermione has been lightly paranoid after what happened in the Department of Mysteries. She hadn't owled much her friends and hadn't gone to the burrow this summer. She needed some time with her parent, friends and relatives.

The last time she saw her favourite dentists alive, was when they waved her good bye and wishing her a good evening.

Professor McGonagall was worried when Hermione didn't give sign of herself since that morning. Normally, Hermione always owled or flooed her, to tell her that every thing was alright. She apparated just in front of the Granger's house. There was no light burning in the house. She entered slowly to house. The scene she saw took her breath away...

Hermione was on the ground watching the bodies of her dead parents. She was perched on a table and just watched. Watched so hard her eyes looked huge in her face. Her make up was smeared all over her face. Not in the 'I've-cried-my-eyes-out" way, but rather the "I-forgot-I-had-make-up-on" way. Her eyes were red and puffy. But not from crying; from exhaustion and sleep. She whispered her parents name's over and over again, like it was some kind of mantra.

"- Child…"

" -It happened last night. I wasn't home. I should have known. I shouldn't have let them be alone. "

" -It isn't your fault. I'm…. I'm terribly sorry for your loss… Is there something I could do?"

" -Could you please leave me alone?"

Hermione voice was neutral as her face. But she was visibly tense and her eyebrows were knitted in concentration.

Professor McGonagall silently nodded and apparated to Grimmauld place. She hated being bearer of bad news.

ii

* * *

The days after the attack were very blurry in Hermione's mind. She didn't realize what happened around her. She wasn't aware of many things. The only thing she remembered was a hand on her shoulder. A haze of words of comfort, of caring. If a question pierced the haze she was bathing her mind in, her answer was always:

"- They aren't my parents. They are dead now. Shells of them. Waxdolls. Dull, dead boring Waxdolls. They are like broken toys; unfixable. Even if they would come to life again, they would never be the same.

But Hermione was away. She seemed to be somewhere else. She didn't know that exactly during those moments, she seemed to be fade away. She didn't either that during those moments she looked exactly like her mother. Her mother with the beautiful mint green eyes.

The bodies of Marigold and Sebastian Granger were brought to the Hogwarts Infirmary. The Ministry had thought it was more sensible to do this then to deliver the corpses to St Mungos. (They somehow hoped to be seen in a better light for doing this.)

Where ever the corpses were was completely the same to Hermione. One question and one question only pre-occupied her: How could she survive without them?

_Now I'm an orphan. Well… Almost._


	2. Chapter 1: The Tale of a Baby's Birth

**Disclamer:** It all belongs to Her. You know Her. We all do.

**

* * *

**

**Author's Note:** Ok, ok, this is supposed to be funny, only I haven't arrived to the lighter part of the whole story yet. Some told me it was depressing. Well, I hope that impression goes away after they read the rest. This has a plot, albeit a strange one. If you have complaints, send me an owl. I'll try to make things clearer…

First I thought about pour all the beginning in this chapter, but it would ruin the plot so this is how much you learn for now.

* * *

**Chapter One:** The Tale of a baby's birth.

Once upon a time, there existed a young girl who had the sun in her eyes and the wind in her hair. She had very pale skin and very soft green eyes and two soft spots of pink on each cheekbone. When she laughed, the left dimple of her face would form the opening of a bracket, and he always traced the other closing bracket with his finger after she stopped laughing.

She was the most beautiful thing on earth. She was apparently happy sometimes too, but he knew her life prematurely consumed her. Her bracket hadn't been open enough. He knew that the only thing she wanted to do every night was to curl up in his arms and listen to the noises made by the cars in the streets.

He didn't really know where she came from. She was just there. She just appeared one day, like that. Well, no, not really. She had appeared in a party with a friend of his. He had asked for her name and she had answered that she had no name. Not anymore.

So he called her Angela, because she came from the unknown place where angels are made. She was his gift from heaven. He was going to be her everything, because he was all she had. She had no name, no family, no friends. Just him. She just had him and her soft green eyes.

She was so perfect. She was perfect in that messy fucked up way punk princesses were. She was one of the youth icons of the part of London she lived in. She was so pretty, with her tragic eyes and mysterious past.

They admired the way she had to make each one of her movements seen-worthy. She snorted cocaine almost in an aristocratic way. She never rolled a cylinder out of paper; she always snorted it clearly from her long nails without sniffing. She never sneezed or had nosebleed. She was a clean junkie.

When she was high, she was always more present then when she was clean. Only then, she was able to see the beauty of certain things. Only then she bathed during hours. Only then, her bracket was wide open on her cheek.

When she was drunk, she faded away, she returned there were she was before. Before she became Angela. She returned to that life where she was happy. Or maybe she wasn't happy there either. Maybe she lived in her own world, the one hidden inside of her.

The only time she was herself was when she woke up in the middle of the night. Then, she would pet his hair and tell him – or maybe herself, he wasn't sure- that she was okay, and that everything was wonderful. That she was happy with him. With him alone. And she'll thank him then, thank him with all her battered heart. She would cry too. She would bury her little head in his chest and cry, and he'll pretend she was asleep. He loved those moments. And she loved them too, because she was sure now that she'll never be alone again.

But when the sun was in the sky, she would become the ghost of herself again. But sometimes, if he did the right thing at the right moment, the bracket would open and make life worth living.

The right things to do were small things, like open an umbrella over her if there was too much sunshine outside. Those small things could be to drive around town in the subway blindly, without thinking where to go. She would open her bracket when he gave her ice-cream in winter, and burning hot chocolate in summer. Her smile would appear if he kissed her in the rain, or hid away every single green thing within reach. She hugged him when he would burn roses and when he gave her buttercups plucked from the park.

She never set her foot in a rollercoaster or in a museum. She hated Halloween, but adored All Saint's day. She would carry as much chrysanthemums as she could and put them on graves long forgotten. She went to the movies, but refused to go to the theatre. She swam in swimming pools, never in rivers or lakes. She liked to hear words like 'synthetic' and 'artificial', but loathed the words 'tradition' and 'folklore'.

She listened to Bach, the Beatles, Beethoven, Berlioz, the Buzzcocks and Bowie (David). She always admired art books in shops and had postcards from every Dali's and Delvaux's paintings. She ate litchis, lasagne and lens soup whenever she could.

She talked like French people, swallowing the 'h' so they didn't come out.

She used the 's' sound as little as possible. Her tongue didn't roll when she pronounced the 'r' so it sounded like 'l' sometimes. She had obviously forgotten that 'g' existed in the English language.

The only thing she loved was him. She never said it, but the way she had to lean against him and touch his hand made it clear. Her back was always in a position that suggested that some one was holding her waist. Her body melt on his often when they were seen together. She always traced the lined of his face when he was about to lit a cigarette.

She was odd, but beautiful whilst doing it. She was so covered in her perfectness that no one ever would have touched her. She was like a statue, pretty but so cold to the touch. He was the only one who could make her melt. It wasn't unusual to see tears escaping from her eyes when he kissed her cheeks. When the tears were seen, every one turned their head away, as if her tears would be something intimate and holy.

¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°¤°

They were together a long time. Months, years –maybe even decades. He did everything he could to make her happy. He paid for her drugs. He made her food. He worked all the time just to able to see her smile. She was desperate when he left her early in the morning and was almost crying when he came home late in the evening.

She tried – with all her force, to stop drugs, but she couldn't. She searched help, but couldn't have it, because she had no other name than Angela. And nowadays even angels can't be helped. So she continued snorting cocaine, but taking less every day.

He hadn't noticed this. He had other things on his mind. He tried to concentrate fully on her, but his three part-time works took their toll on him. But he never complained, and he was never tired. He didn't sleep more than four hours a night. When he made love to her, his body received such a boost that he didn't need to sleep on those nights.

She always laughed when they made love. He could feel her laugh bubble in her stomach. When he was inside of her, it felt like she had penetrated him. She had him now. He was hers. He didn't belong to himself anymore. And then she would laugh, guessing his thoughts, and work her muscles to make him understand what a power she had over him. He would try to stay serious and let her win, but she always did. She knew him to well. The only times they didn't fight whilst making love was when they played cards at the same time.

Playing cards in bed was their favourite pastime. He would climb over her and she would deal the cards, and they'll play 'Chinahand' on her belly. Each time one would set a card on the belly, they thrusted into each other. The one to win the game would have the honour of cuming first. She always won, or he pretended she did.

°°°°

Seasons passed, and suddenly they felt that something was about to change. They had felt it a long time, but they knew that one night after some New Year, that things were going to change forever. Nothing is going to be the same again.

She had managed to be clean the two weeks following New Year's Eve. She had the urge to be completely drug free then. She had to.

He had taken each and every nightshift he could only do. He had taken a fourth job. He worked all the time and now he felt every waking moment tired. But he knew deep inside of him that this would pay off well. He knew all this had a purpose. He felt the strange urges to caress cashmere, to get used to the softness of that fabric. He started to get fascinated by her elbows and eyebrows.

All this had a purpose. And suddenly, it became clear.

She was pregnant. She was with child. She hadn't touched to drugs to prepare her body. And everything was worth it. The bracket on her face often appeared on her face by surprise, and he found it fascinating to always stare at her face to catch the split second before the bracket would appear.

He was deeply in love, and he was falling madly in love with his child too, only he didn't that yet. He didn't caress her belly or pass his arms around her and rest his hands on the growing bump. He did however draw the curve of her belly every second week on a piece of paper and stare at it lovingly during those few hours without work.

* * *

She was terribly afraid. So, so afraid that her child would be affected by her drug abuse from earlier of her life. She didn't want her child to be like her: a failure. She did everything she could to have a good, healthy pregnancy. She had managed to get false papers (which had cost a lot, but she didn't care, as long as her baby was fine) to be able to go to a doctor.

The doctors never asked her anything, but she was sure they could read her eyes and body and tell of her past. She followed all of their advices blindly. She cooked her meals herself and with such a care it looked like her life depended on it. She walked during hours in London, alone, something she didn't do before. She visited him often, almost every day.

Noticing her growing belly, he received more money from his work givers and winks from his colleagues. Every time she stepped in, every one became silent and followed the happy mother within the corner of their eye. She looked adorable, with her expanding belly and thin legs. She looked like a tiny fairy.

The pregnancy went well, but the girl carrying the baby wasn't. She was anxious. She hoped that her pregnancy started after she stopped snorting cocaine. She hoped it so much it robbed her energy.

* * *

He was worried about her and decided to do a thing he wouldn't have done if he wasn't so worried.

He called his parents. He called his parents and told them he had a real life now, and a fiancée and a child soon too.

His parents were old, conservative puritans whose ideas of a good education is to kick the children from home without money and let them survive by their own ways. This had worked well for his elder brother. But he wasn't as prepaid as his brother had been. They had 'disgraced' him when he started to take drugs. The only contact they still had with each other was the postcards they sent each other for Christmas.

His brother was another story. His brother was nice and had helped him, but he had to move away, to France. He hadn't seen him in many years. The only thing he knew was that his brother had married some girl he knew from university.

His brother heard the news, and came right away to meet him.

He was shocked to see how tired and mature his younger brother was. And he couldn't repress a shudder as he saw the thin, too thin girl with her enormous stomach. He shuddered of jealousy, of envy of disgust. He couldn't have children. But he brother could, and he knew, he_ felt_ it that the thin girl would make a wonderful mother. If she would survive the birthing process.

And so she rejoined his family and patiently listened to their small talk, and she would lightly open up.

He still didn't act like a father. He acted like an uncle, but not as a father. He let her take care for everything. She and his brother found a bigger apartment in a better environment for the baby. She decorated the house with soft carpets, light brown wooden furniture. She painted the walls in bright colours and patterns, she put red and purple light bulbs in every room.

* * *

When the time had come to deliver the child, she had calmly walked to his work and gently asked for him. The baby was almost born on the filthy floor of a pizzeria if it wouldn't have been for his quick thinking.

If he hadn't though t so quickly, both would have been dead. She wasn't in labour; her placenta had cracked open and bled. An hour later and she would have died, baby with her.

She didn't deliver the child with pain. She was drugged –this time against her will, and the doctor's kidnapped her child from her. They cut her open and ripped her apart to come across the little baby resting in her.

The child had screamed as they had touched her. She had released a piercing scream, making every one expect her parents deaf for a split minute. She protested vehemently to be born in a cheated way. She wanted to struggle; she wanted to come to life by herself.

Because she was her and him at the same time. She was the world she had hidden so long in herself. She was the hybrid of their love and of their world. She was the guardian of their secrets, of all of them. She was theirs, and theirs only.

He suddenly realized why he had been awake all those nights; he synchronised himself with her biological clock. He couldn't ever thank her enough or the Gods to put her and her child in danger; he knew now that his heart was split in two: one side was for her and one side for his child.

He knew now that she would never leave again. She was bound to him and their baby was their anchor.


	3. Chapter 2: Confessions and Confidences

**Author's Note**: WHAHAHAHA! See me mess around with your minds. Chapter two up and third is coming (this evening quite surely).

I guess it's really easy to guess when I wrote some of these chapters. Mostly I just transform the text so its more understandable.

Oh, I would need a beta for this story. Anyone interested?

* * *

**Chapter Two:** Confusions and Confessions…

* * *

Hermione was brought to Hogwarts where she was during a few days, she couldn't remember how many exactly. Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall and Twinky tried to comfort her. The days went by a sort of strange blur, where she only heard distant voices.

Albus Dumbledore had an emergency meeting in Hogwarts staff room. Lupin, Snape, Tonks, McGonagall, Flitwick, Shacklebolt and Moody were there. Strangely, Hermione didn't want to inform neither Harry nor the Weaselys about her parents' death. In fact, she didn't even want to see them.

This was strange considering that they were as good as her only family left. She requested that she'll be in the orders meeting when they talked about her future.

"- Thank you everyone for coming, I'm sorry for bringing you here for such a dramatic reason. As we all know, Miss Granger's parents have been murdered by death eaters."

Every one in the room, except for Snape, who was staring at the table, turned their head in Hermione's direction and gave her a sympatric smile. She didn't smile back.

"- We all know Miss Granger is a target. She's a very powerful, Muggleborn witch. Although the strong spells Moody and I putted on her house, the death eaters broke through the defences. Both of her parents were immediately killed by the killing curse. There's no sign of a visible struggle. Chaos and mayhem yes, but no struggle."

At this point, Snape made a strangled noise.

"- Something to say, Severus?

"- No, nothing in particular. I found it a bit odd that Miss Granger parents have been hit directly by the killing curse.

" - Enlighten this point to us, please…"

"- Normally, Death eaters like to torture people." He said, and looked at Hermione for the first time. " Especially _muggles_"

After a moment of silence, he added

"- Muggles they know that they have some relations to other people."

He was surprised as Hermione didn't show any emotion at all. Her eyes could have been buttons, because they just reflected the light back, neutral and cold.

Professor McGonagall blinked angrily at Snape. Everybody was silent. It wasn't really the best thing to say when the victim's daughter was in the room.

Surprisingly, Hermione said with a cool, calm voice:

"- So they killed my parents directly, without any pain. It looks like a mark of respect to me. Why would a Death Eater show mercy to one of Voldemort's enemy? Especially to my … parents. If they have tortured them, it would have been a warning. They would have wanted that I suffer."

Everybody looked at her. Snape stared in awe at her. _I admitted long ago, that that girl was smart. But she's smarter than I thought. Strangely emotionally detached._

" - Well, we have some problems. Who should take care of Miss Granger? She's not even 16 yet." Dumbledore said.

"- Maybe someone from her family could take care of you?"

"- Funny Professor Dumbledore that you suggest that…. You see there is this … err… a relative… I have never seen my grandparents in my whole life.

Hermione didn't have to finish her sentence as everyone started talking at the same time.

"- Albus, maybe the Weasely's…"

" - Professor McGonagall could be her guardian…"

"- We all know you have a soft spot for that girl…"

"- Umm… I would really like to be with Professor McGonagall but…"

"-Sachklebolt, how long would it take for becoming someone's guardian?"

"- I think it would go quite quickly, thinking the situation"

"- We must remember the bloodlines, like with Harry. She would have the best protection from someone of her own blood."

" -Listen I really appreciate your concern, but I really think…"

"-Now, now girl, don't worry we'll take care of every thing."

" -I'm not sure you're not listening for what I have to say…"

Everyone continued to search ideas for Hermione's guardianship. Every time Hermione tried to say something, she was cut by someone else. The only one who hadn't said anything except for her parents murder was Snape. His eyes were locked on Hermione. But Hermione didn't take notice.

Hermione tried to say something again but was another time ignored. Finally she stood up and screamed:

"-Listen I'm trying to say something here! I already have a new guardian! I want to be with him and NO ONE ELSE! And he'll decide everything about school. "

That sentence dropped like a bomb. Everyone stopped talking immediately. Many mouths were hanging open from the shock and even Snape's eyes had widened.

" - P…Pardon… What did you just say, Miss Granger?"

"- You heard me perfectly well. I have a guardian. He would can – and will, deciede what's for the best for me. I appreciate your help, but concentrate yourself on something else than me. Right now there's some, um, unfinished business at home and I should take care of that first before starting worrying about school. It might take a while. "

"-You can't be serious, child."

"- I'm bloody fucking am."

"- We could try to help you…"

"- NO! You have nothing to do with it. It has strictly to do with me and my parents and well, my guardian to be. I … It's nothing of your concern."

"-Listen to us, we just…"

But Hermione wasn't listening anymore. She jumped out of her chair, and opened the door. She opened it and ran out. She ran and ran and ran.

She couldn't stop running.

She remembered the mornings her mother waked her up and wanted her to go jogging with her.

She remembered when her father used to chase her through the house when she didn't want to go to bed.

She remembered when she was taken from her parents. She remembered how she had ran back then. She had ran for her life, but was caught by him, her kidnapper. The kidnapper she called father.

Now she ran away from the pain. She ran so fast that her vision blurred. Nothing mattered to her anymore.

Then, she saw the office. She went in it. Then she saw the other, smaller room, filled with those little things, she used to have… As in a trance, Hermione's hand touched one of the objects and snatched it. Looking around, she checked that no one had seen her, and she ran away, but this time because of fear.

"- That was unexpected"

Those words pronounced by Severus Snape broke the silence.

Everyone started to talk at the same time. Snape was the only one who got up and went out of the room. Maybe he didn't like Miss Granger officially but he was truly fond of the girl. He knew she needed to be alone.

He was sure to found Hermione in the hospital wing crying over her dead parent's bodies. When he reached the hospital wing he noticed that Hermione wasn't there. He hadn't seen the bodies yet, because he came just a few hours ago.

The bodies weren't harmed at all. It looked like the two adults were having a peaceful sleep.

_Well at least they died cleanly. I'm sort of happy for them that they died like this. They died together in their home. _

Mrs. Granger was a rather tall woman with glossy dark auburn hair that framed prettily her face. Her skin was slightly golden, not a deadly pale colour the dead usually have. Long thick lashes framed her eyes. Her lips were slightly parted. Her face was peaceful and it looked like she was smiling. Severus wouldn't have recognized her in a million years. She wasn't – couldn't- be the same girl he knew years back.

Well he didn't know her, no one did. But everyone knew her boyfriend, Seth Granger. The blindly devoted Seth, called most of the time Seven. Seven and Angela, the perfect couple. Years could definitely deform one. Angelic Angela looked plain now. And it's strange how tall she was now.

Sebastian Granger looked like his daughter. Only his hair was darker and his face was squarer. Half of his face was covered by a beard. He was quite tall too. Severus wouldn't have recognized him either.

Somehow he was relieved that Hermione's parents weren't horribly mutilated.

He heard light footsteps behind him. He saw Hermione with her arms full of flowers.

"- They look peaceful, don't they?"

He only nodded. Hermione smiled shyly and sat down carefully beside her mother.

_She looks so much like her mother with those flowers in her arms. She had the same washed away look in her eyes._

She took out a comb from her trousers pocket and started to brush the dead woman's hair. It was a heartbreaking scene, even to Severus Snape (which really meant something).

He said nothing and stood there to look when Hermione bearded her mother's hair and decorated her parent's bed with flowers. When she was finished, it looked quite pretty, in a retro hippies-ish style.

"- Could you please help me push the two beds together, please?"

"-Whatever for? They are dead, it doesn't matter if they're together or not."

Hermione smiled. At least Snape still was the same.

"- It's important for me. Mind help?"

"- Fine."

They pushed the two beds together and she put her parent's hands together. She looked peaceful and serene. She looked at them fondly.

"_Incedio_"

Severus jumped about a half meter in the air. The girl was burning her parent's corpses!

"- WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE YOU'RE DOING?"

"- What does it look like?"

"- I t looks like you're putting your parents on fire."

"– Exactly"

"- In HOGWARTS INFIRMARY! ARE YOU OUT OF YOU MIND? All the potions I had to brew for Madame P. are lying around here! Do YOU have ANY IDEA how long it took me to do all those potions?"

"- Well. . . I guess I'm out of my mind. And as for your potions, they are not going to get harmed, I'm only burning this part of the infirmary. "

Severus looked at the girl next to him. She looked strange. He remembered a shy, annoying Know-It-All, bucked teeth, bushy haired, brown eyed girl who was scared out off her wits. Next to him he saw a young girl with golden eyes, honey-coloured hair with straight white teeth who was obliviously out of her mind. But still she was nice to look at.

_Did I just think that she was adorable five minutes ago? She's a raving lunatic. Not as innocent as she pretends. But she's pretty nonetheless. _

Quickly, he cast a counter spell on the fire. Luckily the bodies were intact. Only the beds were a bit black.

"- Listen to me and listen to me well. You're NOT going to burn them here! What on earth was going through your stupid mind? Are you completely daft? 5O points from Gryffondor and you're going to have a month detention with me whenever you come back. There's no excuse for what you did! I swear I never seen someone as stupid as you!"

The girl wasn't moving, but was looking him straight in the eyes.

_She looks like Béhotéguy. And she's also behaving like Béhotéguy. _

If Hermione hadn't been to busy staring angrily at Snape, she would have noticed that a strange flash went through his eyes.

"- Well what do YOU know, huh?

"- I used to know your parents a little bit, a long time ago."

At this, Hermione's eyes went round in surprise. Severus took the girl by the hand and accompanied her to the Headmaster's Office.

Severus would have rather have a Christmas tree shoved up in his arse than admit that sometimes, he wished he could lecture his class only to her. Because she was the first student he actually enjoyed teaching too. But he knew he couldn't show her that; that's why he barked at her so often.

Hermione was in Dumbledore's office again. Only this time she was calm but looked uninterested at all the things that surrounded her. She patiently waited for Dumbledore to start the conversation.

"- Miss Granger, I muss admit I was really surprised as I heard that you won't come back to Hogwarts for your sixth year."

"- I never said I wasn't coming back. It depends on my guardian. But in case I wouldn't be coming back, you'll understand that under the circumstances I need some time to cope with everything. I also have to prepare the funerals and everything. I would come back as soon as I think I'm ready."

"- Miss Granger I'm very aware about you're delicate position. You must have a tutor. Even through using the time turner you're six month older than you really should be, but you still need a guardian. This guardian you're talking about, is he of your family?"

"- Yes, he's my closest living relative."

"- You mean by that…?

"- My grandparents kicked my parents to the street when they were teenagers. When I was born, they tried again to gain some contact but it obviously didn't work. I don't even know if their still alive. As for other family, I don't have any. And when I mean anyone, I really mean nobody at all. The only person who could guard me could be my godmother, Vivica. But she lives if France. And she's also a muggle and she knows that I'm 'special' but she no idea I'm a witch."

"- Are you sure you wouldn't like stay here? I understand you're traumatized by what happened but the death eaters would come back again, and this time, they'll kill you. I don't really see a choice here. We could take care of your family business and then you could come and life here with your Muggle guardian of course…"

"- I fully understand that I create big problems with my stubbornness. But I have to stay in the muggle world. My guardian is maybe a muggle, but he at least knows what I am. A witch. You could provide us with an emergency Portkey we could use in need."

"- May I inquire about the identity of your guardian?"

Hermione was now looking at her hands. She was thinking. She was thinking very fast.

"- This guardian of mine…. He's name is Seth. Seth Seven Granger."

* * *

Thanks for all those who kindly reviewed me.

Panthatlon: Hope you understand what Seth Granger is to Hermione...

Lady Urquentha: Hah! Nope, the remaining member of Hermione Family is...


	4. Chapter 3: Trip down Memory lain

**Disclamer :** … Not mine. The plot is mine and Seth is mine too. … And that isn't even true.

**Author's note:** Oooh…. Thank you for all your lovely reviews! Just because I feel like being evil (I'm in the middle of my tent week) I'll post the continuation of chapter one. This should answer to many questions.

Or only confuse you more. (For those who wonder, yes I am drunk.)

I actually had a fun time wirting this whole chapter. It has bits and pieces from three other different chapters... And I managed to score a 5/10 inphilosphy... Just so you know...

Whocares aboutphilosphy anyways?My teatcher's classes are as interesting as she's sexy (and believe me, even a dead oyster is sexier than she is)

* * *

"- May I inquire about the identity of your guardian?"

Hermione was now looking at her hands. She was thinking. She was thinking very fast.

"- This guardian of mine…. He's name is Seth. Seth Seven Granger."

_

* * *

_

_Hermione couldn't really remember the story well. She remembered being very sad as a child, and angry. _

_But one thing always comforted her. It was old song. She would hum it every time she would watch through the window and see other small girls like her run, shout, laugh and play in the daylight._

_She didn't care for those girls. She wanted her daddy back. They had kidnapped her, and she was alone now. _

_But when she sang her song, he was back to her again. _

_He was singing to her in her shell like ear her song, with his warm voice:_

" _- Sitting all alone, inside, today Jane.  
The other girls are home, we're playing a new game.  
The voice is very, very close, you like it that way,  
and we're feeling rather warm inside."_

_She would listen to it playing in her head during hours. She wouldn't move because she was afraid to loose her music. So she stayed where she was, next to the window and listened._

_Her foster parents started to worry. Their daughter's mouth didn't smile. She didn't play with her toys. She browsed her book sometimes. _

_She was so quiet in her corner. They worried during days and nights. Hermione started to become invisible. She lost the substance that made her Hermione. It escaped through her. And they were afraid to find one day her body lifeless yet functioning perfectly, staring at the park, eyes wide open and empty._

_What they didn't know was that Hermione didn't sleep at nights. She stayed awake then, and played with her toys and imaginary games with her father. She would dance to an imaginary music, and she would laugh, laugh so hard her voice would become noiseless._

_Hermione was at home. Her home was the nights with her dreams and memories from her earlier life. Her home was her father's voice singing to her._

"_Are you smiling or afraid?  
You can have it either way…_"

* * *

Hermione was a least home. It was still home to her, even after her now dead parents had done. She turned around, smiling to the two persons who were behind her.

"- I sent him an owl before we left. I hoped he received it in time."

Dumbledore watched carefully over his shoulder. Severus Snape was just behind him, gritting his teeth.

Severus had tried to grab Hermione aside to talk with her when they were in Dumbledore's office. He was confused and wanted to clear up things. She was hiding something, and it wouldn't have concerned him if it didn't touch something from his past. But it did, he had known Seth and Angela. And he was ready to cut his hand if it would make her talk to him.

But of course, Dumbledore had wanted to sort things out as quickly as possible and meet this Seth Granger. So badly that he couldn't leave Hermione and Severus alone for a half an hour.

So, a very cross Severus Snape had followed Dumbledore and Hermione. He needed to talk with Hermione. It was simple as that. She could try to run away, but he'll hunt her down. She was a Know-It-All; surely she knew answers to his questions.

Hermione had led them from Grimmauld place to London and from London to its suburbs. They had walked through blocks of short skyscrapers.

Hermione was obviously used to walk here. All the streets looked the same, but Hermione walked surely forwards all the time.

They walked into an house obviously built in the seventies, which wasn't in a brilliant condition. It had been bright red, but now it was more of an sickly orange colour. The neighbourhood didn't seem to be all too safe. Or at least not if you were rich.

They walked up four flings of staircases before stopping in front of a blue door.

Hermione, who had always led them, walked a bit aside, thus giving Dumbledore the honour of pushing the house bell.

A loud crash was heard from the inside of the flat and some swearing. Finally the door opened.

"- Welcome. I am Seth Granger, please step in.

Snape snorted. And then froze. The man in front of him wore tight trousers and a too large mans shirt. His hair was dark blond and hung loosely around his face. His eyes were yellowish and brown. He gave them a goofy smile but a concerned look as well

Severus had to control himself. But before he knew it, had his hand flew to Hermione's hand and squeezed it tightly.

The man in front of him was without any hesitation Seth Granger. He had barely changed during all the years Severus hadn't seen him.

But he was older, now, and it was clearly written on Seth's face. His eyes were too large for his face. His eyes had seen too much. Severus wondered where Angela was. They couldn't have broken up. Not with the love they had.

Hermione held Severus's hand and he felt how she trembled next to him. Both of them stepped into the apartment at the same time, giving support to each other. They gave each other courage to face a piece of their past.

Dumbledore followed them into the flat. Seth brought them to the living room. Severus still held Hermione's hand.

"- Excuse me, but may I know who you are?" Seth asked politely.

"-I'm professor Dumbledore, Miss Granger's Headmaster from school"

"- I eeeem …. Eeerrr… Irimioneu's pôtion tiitcherr.¤" Snape answered with a strong French accent, slightly panicking.

He saw that Hermione tried not to laugh. This made him smile inwardly. Dumbledore gave him a warning look. Seth smiled uncertainly.

Severus always panicked when Béhotéguy came in the picture. He didn't want Seth to recognize him.

Severus felt all too often the burden of his battered past and paranoia weight on him. He didn't like being mean, but he was like that, and it was only for the better. The only time he had tried to change, he became worse, and killed a person. Maybe if he didn't do anything, everything would be okay. At least for Hermione...

… Err... Miss Granger off course.

"- Mister Granger, do you know what have happened these past days?"

"- Hermione sent me an owl where she told me something bad has happened… to her, err, parents. Are Marigold and Sebastian alright?"

Hermione excused herself.

"- I'll go and make tea and coffee. Or do you want something else?"

"- Tea is fine, thank you" Dumbledore answered.

" – Fruit juice would do for me, Hermione" Seth answered with a blank voice.

"- Something strong for you, _Professeur_ Snape?"

"- Anything with coffee and/or alcohol will do"

"- OK."

Severus watched the girl when she went to the kitchen. She moved in a very feline like manner and didn't make any noise. She closed the door behind her and Severus heard when she started to prepare the coffee, the tea and Seth's juice. He wondered if she was okay.

Hermione was in the kitchen. She smiled sadly to herself when she remembered all the times she was eating with her parents. She shrugged her head and started to make coffee and warm the water for the tea.

Severus excused himself as Dumbledore started to talk precautionary with Seth.

He's goal was to go to the kitchen where Hermione was to talk with her. But he never came farer than the corridor.

There were pictures everywhere on the walls of the corridor.

Fifteen of them were framed.

Severus set his eyes on the first one. It was the picture of a newborn baby. Surely Hermione.

* * *

The baby that was born was born the first days of fall. Nature had obviously put all its power in her.

He was endlessly fascinated by her soft skin and small hands. He wondered how in the world he could take her in his arms without breaking her. He was afraid of breaking her when he took her in his arms. Her head fit perfectly his hand. He couldn't believe a person could be so happy.

There couldn't be a more ecstatic mother on the world. She seemed never to be bored anymore; she was too busy looking at her small baby. Her small baby girl.

She had known during her pregnancy that it would be a girl. She had felt it inside of her. She had known it by watching the flowers blossom in spring. All the flowers had been pink, and had showered her in their soft petals.

The summer had been warm and sunny. She had licked sweet tasting ice-creams under colourful umbrellas during the day, and had patiently waited her boyfriend at home whilst gazing at the stars the night.

She had even sympathized with his family. His parents were nice, but disapproved of their relation; they weren't even married!

But she didn't care. She had her baby girl now, and danced and cradled it for hours. She sang to it and told it stories about her past.

They named her Hermione. Hermione meant warrior. And Hermione was one tough fighter. She fought all the time everything expect her parents.

She fought against gravity, defying it by sitting, moving and attempt to walk whenever she could. She fought against storms, screaming louder than the thunder. She fought against discrimination, by smiling to anyone sensible enough to notice her.

She fought against her grandparents who tried, unsuccessfully, to take her in their old arms. She balled her hands to fists and would hit them when their tried to kiss her. Sometimes, when her mother was dozing off, or her father was reading her a book, she'll stare at them with her abnormally big eyes.

She would stare and stare, as if she could bore a whole through them. It was as if she knew all the pain they would bring upon her parents and herself.

And the grandparents felt often their hearts be iced by her baby blue eyes. Her eyes that were so very blue. It was impossible that she would have blue eyes, yet everyone wished she could keep them.

Each and every time some one she actually acknowledges took her in their arms, she would stare at them with her eyes; it seemed that she was screaming at them.

If Hermione could have verbalized her thoughts it could have been something like this:

"- ACKNOWLEDGE ME! It is doesn't mean anything if I am only five months old! I am already something great! Something superb! Your faith shall be put on me! No need for messiahs when you have me, a miracle!"

She was so loved. She was so adorable with her little pinks dresses and bonnets.

So adorable and horrible to look at when you couldn't have children…

* * *

**Post Author's Note:** ¤ "I am Hermione's potions teacher." If some of you wonder what Snape answered.

This fic is actually quite not funny... I'll get better in later chapters. It's supposed to be all angsty! Hermione just lost her parents!


	5. Chapter 4: Children can't choose their p...

**Disclamer:** The people in this tory aren't mine (but Severus is my little piggy of love)

**

* * *

**

**Author's Note:** Another chapter of Never go to bed angry stay up and fight...

I'm having a huge author's block with my other fic 'Angelic Layer'.

Sorry about not updating that story right now. Hope you'll enjoy these chapter!

* * *

Hermione was in the kitchen. She smiled sadly to herself when she remembered all the times she was eating with her parents. She shrugged her head and started to make coffee and warm the water for the tea.

There was a grocery list on the fridge. "Must_ buy: oil (for food, NOT motor like last time), milk, cream, batteries, veggies, chocolate (ask H. for wizard kind)._ Hermione opened the fridge and took out milk. The tears started to fall from her eyes silently.

Hermione felt so, so guilty. How many times had she wishes –even prayed- for this to happen? What sordid god had heard her prayer, and furthermore, what made him answer to it?

Sure she hadn't liked them, but she didn't hate them; they were her parents after all. They were normal parents. Normal, nice parents, those parents who called her Mimi. Because it was so 'cute'.

But who was she after all? Was she really Hermione the Know-It-All? Or was she Jane, Seth's wonderful daughter? Or was Mimi her true self? She asked herself one of the simplest, yet the most difficult question a human being could ask oneself.

She poured the coffee in a cup, pressed Seth's juice, put the tea on the trolley and made herself a drink. With some alcohol.

Alcohol was good. Makes onecheery.

Hermione knew how she looked when she cried: ugly. One thing that made her stop immediately crying was alcohol. Which was also the international cure against boredom.

Hermione bend down and took out a whiskey bottle out of the cupboard under the sink. She poured in Severus's coffee a rather generous tad of Fire Whiskey.

If he wanted something strong, preferably caffeine with alcohol; and she was going to prove him just how well she could mix her own little potions.

She took out a chocolate box and put it on the tray. A thing her mother learned her. Her real mother; the pretty one.

Hermione walked carefully forwards, her eyes fixed on the tray, careful not to drop anything. Severus averted his eyes from the photographs of Hermione to the real person herself. She smiled to him.

He saw that she had cried. He felt some strange feeling in his stomach.

_It has surly something to do with her eyes_. _That golden colour of hers is really unnerving. She's exactly like Béhotéguy; she also had a strange eye colour. _

Not really knowing what to do or say, Severus's eyes fell on the tray.

"- One of the coffees is for you."

"- Thank you."

Severus drank his brewage and started to cough. Hermione looked at him and smiled like some kind of raving psycho.

"- Ragh… Let me guess Miss Granger, whiskey and coffee?

"- Firewhiskey, yes indeed."

"- I have to admit, you have quite a good taste in food."

"- Oh my, a compliment from the Slytherin King himself to the Gryffindor Know-It-All!"

Severus cracked a smile, and Hermione, agreeably surprised, laughed. He remembered the first person who made that trick to him.

Flashback

"_- Does anyone want to have coffee?"_

"_- Béhotéguy, why are you always screaming through the apartment, although there is only both of us? "_

"_- Sorry – I'm not used to have only one person here. We really are lucky! This is a good way to begin your life out of Hogwarts, right?"_

_Béhotéguy stepped in the room, half naked and hair messy. Severus sat up, letting some space to Béhotéguy to sit down. She handed him the coffee and he took a good sip of it… and almost immediately spit it out._

"_- Béhotéguy, what is this stuff? Warmed up coca cola with alcohol in it?"_

"_- Nope! It's the best coffee EVER! Try again! It's a mix of coffee and whiskey!"_

"_- Béhotéguy, everything having alcohol tastes good in your mouth."_

_Severus drank prudently again and felled how the brewage warmed him much more than butter beer. Or maybe it was Béhotéguy's violet eyes._

End Flash Back

Severus cradled the hot mug in his hand, now decimating the last picture of Hermione with his dark eyes.

He felt Hermione's eyes on his eyelids, but continued watching the pictures around the framed one.

He heard her head snapping to the side, and could see her face studying the pictures laid in front of her as well.

She watched them hard, as if they could start moving with the sheer power of her will. But the pictures remained motionless, the people on them frozen on iced paper, happy for ever.

She heard her father's voice again, singing to her as he did when she was a little girl….

"Yesterday seemed very dark, but now it's bright,  
your clouds have gone away.  
Sensory perception peaking at this time,  
electric waves of sound are filling Jane's mind today…"

Severus turned his head slowly, so to be able to watch the girl. She was Angela's daughter; no doubt in that. She was fading away like her; drowning maybe in her memories. Her memories that sang to her, because he too, could hear faintly a tune playing in his head.

He knew that song.

"- Calling out to Jane as you drift away, "Don't be afraid,  
they're only your illusions anyway.""

Hermione's hands let abruptly go of the tray to come and cover her mouth.

Her song! Her own little song was stolen away from her by none other than Snape! He sang it softly, so very quietly she could barely hear it. But she knew he was singing it.

Even if the song was from a known band, she never, ever heard it sung by anyone else than her father, or the Queensryshe. Never anyone else had sung it.

Hermione felt profaned. Someone had violated her memories; some one had stolen her childhood's only comfort.

Severus had quickly caught the tray before it had hit the floor. Some fruit juice was splattered on the tray, and almost all the tea was on the hall's carpet. But miraculously, Hermione's coffee was still intact, as well as his own cup he had stuck under his armpit.

Hermione stared at him dumbly. She knew it was stupid of her, but she felt like hitting her teacher and cry, because something that was hers was now more.

Severus held the tray with a shaking hand, whilst thinking about something smart to say. He had realized he has done something to upset Hermione. It was written all over her pretty, serious and pale face.

None of them noticed how Dumbledore was looking at them.

Her aunt and uncle loved her. They often took her with them out on a little walk in the park.

They would put Hermione in her prettiest (and most expensive) dress and put small pearly white shoes on her feet. They'll install her like a queen in the baby carriage, careful to put her in a sitting position.

And then, they would take the subway for half an hour to finally go to the biggest park in London. There, they would browse in the park, pushing the carriage side by side, pretending to be Hermione's parents.

They were a postcard perfect family. The fair haired, Caucasian man with tasteful cloths on, healthy and cheery. The pretty wife, with dark hair but clear eyes, wearing a light dress on, radiant and happy. And the perfect baby, with her blue eyes and her tuff of blond brownish hair.

The family every one envied. The one who only knew the words 'poverty', 'abuse' and 'problems' from the dictionary. The family you maybe dreamed for when you just had a row with your parents. A family that would make you cry if were a runaway, a whore, a junkie, or an alcoholic.

The kind of family psychopaths would murder.

But when Hermione was with her aunt and uncle she didn't smile. She would turn the corner of her mouth upwards if she noticed an admirer, but most of the time she sat and sighed. Her dress was too hot, it itched, the shoes too small and uncomfortable. Often, she wanted home to her mother and father.

And when she wanted to her real parents, she made the worst thing anyone could imagine her do.

Cry.

Now, when Hermione was born she had made a horrible sound.

Her crying was way beyond that. When she cried, you went not only deaf, but blind as well. Her screams were so high perched, that the finest of the crystals broke. Her scream stopped any logical thinking. It made one go wild.

Wild with despair and hurt. That scream woke up the very deepest instincts of the people around her. Those screams reminded them of the Stone Age, where humans were eaten up by the night, unable to protect themselves.

Her screams were the mix of someone agonizing; someone losing a loved one, someone unable to do anything, of someone completely had lost hope in life. And such a sound coming out a baby was terrifying.

If baby had the right to use such a scream, a baby so young, so innocent, so ignorant of the world, so how could it be that them, the adults couldn't scream too?

Everyone hearing the cries would rash to see what was happening. People would be scandalized by the cries and the picture of the perfect would be broken right away, shattered in the wind.

The uncle and aunt had to realize it wasn't a good idea to go out on a walk with Hermione without her parents, her real parents.

They hadn't understood what or why she cried in the beginning. They thought that maybe a pin from her dress was

They hated to see the real family walk together.

They looked idyllic; not perfect.

He was too tall, too shabby, too young. His hair was dyed black and the sides were shaved away. His hair would either be braided in a pony tail or spiked up with gel. His chin was unshaved and scratchy. His eyes would surely be surrounded by dark purple rings but crinkled up with joy. There was a safety-pin in his left eye brow and a tattoo of a pin-up on his arm. He had most often his leather jacket on and a pair of black combat boots. Chains and skull rings would decorate his hands and wrists.

She would be so pretty, wearing a long, dark purple coat covered in silver stars and moons. Her hair was set free to dance in the wind. She wore fingerless white gloves and very pink nail polish. Most of the time she was wearing a skirt or a dress and you could see the white or black woollen thighs peeking under her coat when she walked. Her shoes were white and black striped and had small bells attached to them. Her face was still pale, but not tragic anymore. She would often warm her face up with carefully chosen make-up.

Hermione would be covered in warm cloths she received from her admirers of parent's friends and if her horrible grandparents hadn't come to visit them, a thing they almost did daily, little Hermione would have her hair put in spikes, like her fathers.

They were the epitome of happiness and hope. They walked around in the 'slums' they lived in, and when the junkies, homeless or whores saw them, it gave them hope for a better life.

Time passed by. Hermione's first birthday was a horrible event. At least the beginning had been.

Her grandparents and aunt had made an enourlmous party for 'her'. Everyone invited did barely know Hermione's father, and ignored her mother. Her aunt and uncles pranced around with her in their arms, showing off.

Not rectifying if people thought it was their child. All found it oh-so-clever for dentists to give such a pretty unusual Shakespearian name to the adorable little baby. Hermione was tossed from arms to arms.

Once in a while, her father would take her in her arms and gently whisper his lullaby in her ear.

"_Lady Jane your eyes are wide today,  
and the world is looking very strange, you must proclaim!  
It's quite a scary, scary ride we take, Lady Jane."_

Her mother couldn't find the words to say how accurate those paroles were. The baby seemed to ask her with her eyes why she didn't do anything to rectify the situation.

She snapped when the old neighbours next door kissed Hermione and asked Marigold how she hd managed to stay so slim after the pregnancy.

They both fully knew that she, she was Hermione's mother. She, beautiful fragile she, and if they ignores her, may it be so, but they had no right to insult her love.

They had something of their own, and every one was now eager to have it. They had ignores her and Seth until now, now when they finally had something to live for.

She walked briskly to them and snatched her baby from their prying hands.

"- She is my daughter, do you hear me? MY DAUGHTER!"

She looked so angry. It looked like she was becoming crazy. Her body trembled and she tears of anger slipped out from her eyes.

"- She's my child. MINE! She's not Marigold's or Sebastian. She'll never be. She'll be forever mine and Seth's. You can try to change her, but we are rooted in her. We gave her life, and trust me; no one EVER can take from her. Her life is hers; not yours."

Without knowing in, she had pronounced a prophecy. Her daughter was going to get kidnapped by her sister and brother-in-law.

But she couldn't know that, she had taken her child away, leaving behind her an embarrassing silence and even more embarrassed people. Marigold had been livid, and the hypocritical sisterly love she had for Angela turned into deep, bottomless hate.

How dared this junkie clame Hermione like that? She couldn't be a proper mother:

But Marigold knew it was false. Marigold would give her child a wonderful life; even if Angela was poor and uneducated, only by her sheer beauty, a beauty you knew wouldn't fade, she could make anyone's life bearable.

And if she couldn't take care of her child, Seth would do it. He took of her; he wouldn't mind take care of an extra little baby person.

But nothing can be as effective as a desperate woman who wants a child. And Marigold was one of these persons.

She started whishing in her heart that one day she could prove to every one what a great mother she could be. She cradled her wish in her chest, often smiling a dark smile. She prayed for horrible things to happen to Angela and Seth.

Marigold knew one day her prayers would be answered. She knew that when her chance would come, she wouldn't let go of it.

Hermione would be her daughter. And if not in front of the law, well then, she'll beHermione's mother in her heart.

* * *

Author's note: if anyone, anyone could help me with my other fic, then please do.

But reviews for this story are highly appreciated off course! °nudge, nudge, wink wink° Reviews inspire me...


	6. Chapter 5: Baby Blues

**Author's Note:** FINALLY! An update! I have the worst writer's block ever! This story is going downhill! It will surely be far from something funny. Expect confusing plots, weird things, and strong emotions galore!

Thanks for all those who reviewed!

* * *

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

* * *

Seth watched his daughter walk into the room, her steps almost zombie-like. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He was heartbroken. His daughter had been stolen from him, and now, finally, after almost a decade of waiting, he received her back. Seth knew she would go back to where she belonged: Hogwarts. Yet he wept already at the thought of seeing his daughter leave him, again.

Hermione sat down beside her, face being deciphered by Severus. Seth had felt the urge to touch Severus's face as he had walked in. How he had became old! What had happened to him? Maybe he as well had lost everything, just like himself.

Suddenly, Seth felt how everything was slightly fading around him, and he remembered. He remembered the cruelty of love.

* * *

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

His baby's eyes were staring at him. He tried to reach out and hold her, yet his arms couldn't reach out for her. Anxiousness was rising in him as suddenly he saw her disappear in water. Her chubby little angel face was malting away under his eyes.

He quickly dived to fish her up, he held her close to his heart. He watched her, and wondered how it was possible for her to be dry. His sorrow was leaking so heavily from his eyes. It was trying to drown him from the inside; yet he tried to control himself. He cried so hard he was afraid his tiny daughter would drown in his tears.

Now they were alone. They were orphans.

Hermione felt the deep sorrow. It was an umbrella, casting watery shadows on her sunny mind. She realized in her what it meant: nothing was never going to be the same.

They both closed their eyes and held dearly to each other. They were two lonely figures in brightly coloured cloths with the saddest expression on their faces. They were mourning. They were two rocks standing up against the sea of sorrow that gulped and swallowed them. They didn't move.

There was no point of moving anymore. She wasn't there to accompany them anymore. Seth knew she couldn't be replaceable. No one could live up to be someone as grand as her. No one could have ever loved more than she.

She returned from where she came from. Her fellow angels took her where she belonged.

Angela… was no more.

She was cremated, and her ashes weren't buried in a cemetery. The planted a pot of her under a cherry tree in some forest they had driven through with a borrowed car. The rest was thrown through their flat's window. Those on the street had stopped talking and watched with grave faces the little girl cast her mother into the air.

The street was mourning, and the sun was shining. The sun was warm and the air was light: Small leaves in trees waved her good-bye. She dies; nature came to life. It was a perfect cycle. Nature had given its power to Hermione. Nature took Angela's life back in return. Yet nature had given her five years to live with her love and their child.

Seth held his daughter against him and wondered slightly how they would survive. The answer had come earlier than expected: he wouldn't survive to it all. He was about to go down.

* * *

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

It had happened so quickly, Seth's head was still dizzy when he thought of it all. His sister-in-law had one day simply knocked on their door. She hadn't been alone: a man in a brown suit had followed her inside and cast a disgusted look at the insides of the flat.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

* * *

The floor was littered with both little girls and 'adult' cloths; black ribbons were strewn over the floor, among tissues, candles pieces and toys. The man in front of him was swaggering on his feet. He wasn't drunk; or at least he didn't smell of alcohol. They heard a sloppy wet sound and the noise of water running from the bathroom.

"- Yes?"

"- Mister…. Seth Granger?"

"- Who are you?"

"- I am from the social services. We have reasons to think your daughter… er… Hermione Granger could need a new custody."

Seth eyes widened and he watched Marigold. The woman shrugged her shoulders, a sad face on, but her eyes gleamed greedily. Her hands nervously clicked and clacked; it was obvious she has called the social services.

Hermione of course! She wanted Hermione. That terrible woman hadn't seen Hermione since almost four years. Now Hermione was motherless and a father with a very questionable history.

He knew he was doomed. Hermione was going to be taken away from him. No way he could stand up against his sister-in-law or against his parents. They would win; they would take his daughter away from him. They would surely think it would be for the best for him and his daughter. They couldn't comprehend that the only thing that kept Seth alive was Hermione.

They never understood, never.

He couldn't recall what happened after that. He just couldn't. His brain had shut away the trauma of it all. He recalled vaguely his daughter in a pink dress, wondering why she was going to court. She remembered the apologizing look of his brother, the stern face of the judges, the papers he had to sign. The only memory he had from the court was so horrifying he hoped to forget it. Yet try as he might, he couldn't.

"- DAD! Daddy! Don't let them take me! I want to want to leave! Daddy please! _Please_! I'll promise I'll be good! Daddy? DADDY?"

Her voice was piercing their ears and Seth hid his face in his hands. He couldn't do this; but he had to. They would offer Hermione more than himself. He straightened himself and walked towards his sister-in-law and his brother who held the little girl against his chest.

Hermione kicked and screamed, reaching out with her arms towards her father. Her arms were clawing the air, her eyes were enormous. She looked like a horrible, grotesque version of a Borittcelli angel.

He walked to her, forcing himself to smile. He took his girl in his arms, feeling the part of his heart that hadn't died with Angela being hit and crushed under his daughter's pleas. He held his daughter close to him, feeling their heartbeats mangle and beat together, pumping the pain in them.

He kissed his daughter on her forehead, a thing he had never done before. Usually he kissed her mouth or covered her face with butterfly light kisses. But this kiss was final. It was distant, and slippery, wet of tears.

He delicately took off his daughter from his arms. She watched him with her eyes, sensing his betrayal.

He gave her to them. He extended his arms towards Marigold. The woman took the girl in her arms. Hermione's eyes hadn't shifted nor blinked her eyes. Her gaze was planted firmly into the eyes of her father. She understood now. She was given away.

At that moment, the moment she realized she wouldn't go home to her flat with her dad, she opened her mouth and screamed. Her scream echoed through the hall they were in, attracting the attention of everyone. That scream made them all deaf, except her father.

But her father would have so wished to be deaf as well at that time. His daughter was screaming at him; she was releasing all her emotions of anger, betrayal, sadness and confusion. Seth wanted to scream as well, but he wouldn't. It was for the best. Really.

"- I hate you. I hate you so. You betrayed mommy! You let me go. You know she would have never allowed that! You know it. I hate you. I don't ever want to see you again."

Hermione changed then. From one moment to be an angel like creature, she transformed into something plain, even grotesque with a disturbing aura of hate. When Hermione was five, she stopped believing the world was good. But she knew, those like her, those few chosen ones, would have one day the whole stinking world at their feet. And she'll laugh then, and spit at it like it spit at her.

* * *

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Seth blinked his eyes and was lost for a split second. He was back at the flat, and Dumbledore still talked to him. He smelt Hermione next to him; he felt her trembling next to him. Maybe she remembered those same things. He had never understood how painful love was. It was a weapon with an incomparable force.

He shut his eyes again and opened them. He forced a smile up on his face. He would be ready to whatever he could to make his daughter happy. She deserves it with all the pain he bought her.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

* * *

When Hermione landed at her adoptive parents, she decided to play a game. She pretended she was orphan- which was true in its way, and that 'Hermione' was a part she was suppose to play.

Her fake parents helped her with that. They didn't call her Hermione, and she refused to be called 'Mione by them. She was for them their little 'Mimi'. The girl they always wanted.

Mimi was sweet and perfect and girly and bubbly and bouncy. She wasn't afraid of starting her sentences with 'and' and was the perfect epitome of little girl-ness. She pretended to be happy, she pretended she was joyful. Her laughs were high-pitched and long; and she threw her head back and showed her teeth.

Late at night, she would be in her bed and think to herself that it wasn't her bed. Her bed was smaller and harder: this one was too new. She closed her eyes and listened to all the noises made by the house. She was a spy; she was being trapped in her enemy's base.

The house, yes, _house_, she was living in was situated in a calm street. No noises were heard expect maybe for the humming of the refrigerator or sometimes a neighbourhood dog would bark. Hermione liked watching outside the window then: the landscape was dark blue, black and white. It reminded her of her beautiful mother.

Hermione liked this game. But it was also confusing. In the end, she didn't really know what to think. She had noticed that her mother gave her those strange looks she made when squinting in the mirror, trying to remember her real mothers face. Her parents laughs were like hers: fake.

It was then the realized they were just as fake as her. Only they couldn't remember who they used to be.

At this point the girl started to get really scared. She didn't dare to talk or laugh anymore: she didn't want to forget her true self. She ate herself up from the inside. Her mother's beautiful eyes started to get covered by Mimi's childish toys, unimaginative drawings and cliché-drawings. Something had to be done, or Hermione would forget herself completely.

That day was the last day she was pretending for real to be Mimi. Her acting became so synthetic and fake; she was a parody of her former game. Her parents worried when she didn't smile anymore: she whether grinned, showing off her sharp teeth, or her mouth was shut tight, posed in a dramatic line.

Her parents had sent her everywhere in hope to have Mimi back. Nothing worked. She started school with other girls her age and made herself friends. Those friends made sometimes fun of her, yet she didn't mind. Each of Hermione's teachers always called her 'parents' to discuss about their daughter. Hermione sometimes seemed to fade away, and become transparent. Everyone had noticed that, yet nothing could have been done against that.

The only time it changed back to 'normal' was when Hermione received her Hogwarts letter.

* * *

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

* * *

Dumbledore noticed how absent both his interlocutors were. He even himself was bored by what he was saying.

So he finally asked the question that ahd been pestering him the whole day.

"- Where is Hermione going to continue her magical education?"

"- That's Hermione's decision!"

Yet Seth couldn't stop himself from passing his arm around his daughter's shoulders. He didn't want to pressurize her. He would support her decision whatever her choice was. He had no idea that his daughter had officially refused to return to Hogwarts.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably on her chair.

She knew Seth didn't have money; yet she also knew she still could go to Hogwarts if she wanted to; Dumbledore and al the others will provide her the support she would need. Yet did she want to go back to her school; was she ready to leave her father whom she missed for during ten years?

The answer was simple: no. She wouldn't loose her father again. She Hermione again; she was her true self. Her mother might have died, yet she lived within the walls of this apartment. She wouldn't leave her tiny, one member family again. Too much time had been stolen from her father. Wasn't the fact of her adoptive parents being murdered a sign for her to stay?

* * *

Pleease Review! I implore you! 


End file.
